Of Milk and Markets

Yesterday, I milked a cow for the first time in my life.  The cow is named Pathari (stone in Hindi, because she’s black), and her calf is Mahogany.  Mahogany had to wait his turn while we took a share of her milk for our coffee.  The teats were like warm wet toes, and proved pliable under my fingers.  It took a firm pull to induce the milky squirt into the metal pail.  The liquid shot out with such force that a satisfying spray bounced back off the tin side.  Ravi, the usual milker of the cows, held the pail patiently while we all took a turn at this new novelty, and then ably took over when we were satisfied.  He dove in with both hands, pulling in a rhythmic blur until the creamy white filled up half the pail.  He backed away and little Mahogany jumped in, searching desperately for the warm toes to suck.

I have been doing a lot of farm work in the past few weeks -- weeding the pineapples, picking cardamom, planting avocado and mango trees, and harvesting ginger.  My co-intern Chitra and I have taken the lead on creating a new nursery of seedlings and a scattered vegetable garden around the farm (I’ll be posting photos throughout the process here).   So far we have turned five fallow, water-logged raised beds into fertile plots, and have planted beans, brinjal (eggplant) and chili peppers.  Tomorrow we’ll begin a seedbed of orange trees.

The farming is good fun, and is giving me an important foundation for my work here.  But it is just the beginning, I hope.  Tomorrow, I’ll be meeting most of the farmers who last year created the Organic Association of Kodagu.  They’re a group of certified organic farmers who have relatively large land holdings (100+ acres), and who created the cooperative to help each other organize new marketing strategies.  I don’t know much more about them, but I’m prepared with a general questionnaire and a lot of curiosity.  What crops do they grow?  Why did they go organic?  Has it been cost effective?  Where do they sell their produce?

This last question is of particular interest to me.  When I was preparing for this trip, and during my first week on the farm, I kept asking why the local farmers weren’t selling their organic cardamom to foreign markets.  I had even suggested we try selling to a few organic retailers in Philly I knew.  100 grams of organic ground cardamom here sells for just 50 rupees ($1.05).  In the states, I had once bought a smaller spice jar of the stuff for ten bucks.  So it seemed to me like a smart move to go for the best price, and then to funnel that extra money back into education or research programs (the mission of the NGO), or at the least subsidizing crops for home consumption such as fruits and vegetables. 
What I kept hearing, though, was the complaint that in some parts of India, all the produce had been exported to the point that local people were starving.  And then:  “what about the food our children are eating?” they would say.  “We need to have organic choices too.”  This is certainly a valid point, given the near-extreme chemical use of many farms in India.  But what immediately seems obvious to me is that organic farmers also need a market.  They need enough dedicated demand that it justifies the high cost of organic certification, and the added labor and knowledge that organic cultivation requires.  Otherwise, the organic farming movement in India will include only those farmers who can afford to heed their principles and keep chemical inputs out of their soil. 

These are open questions for me at the moment.  Along with learning how to milk a cow and sow a bed of chilis, hopefully I’ll learn a thing or two from this group of farmers about what works and what doesn’t in selling organic produce.